


Perception

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [44]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Eventual Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7768792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ninon's first impression of Aramis isn't the best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



Aramis is panicking. No really, he is.

This is so much worse than his first date with Porthos, far worse even than Athos’ premature return from his visit to Ninon and the first few frosty seconds between him laying eyes on Aramis and the rapid unfreezing that followed.

Funnily enough it’s Ninon who’s responsible for making Aramis panic now. Only it’s not funny at all. In fact he’s rather close to locking himself into the bathroom.

It’s not like he’s never met her before, but that was only once, and very brief at that, when she whisked Athos off for a museum’s opening or something and took the opportunity to finally meet her friends’ new roommate.

Now she’s sitting on the couch with them, drinking Athos’ coffee and eating Porthos’ cake, radiating disdain for Aramis’ general existence.

He’s not making this up. _He’s not_.

He’s spent enough time with people too polite to tell him outright what they thought about his exploits with his sisters’ friends (and Andy), but were never quite polite enough to be above sneering at him behind a very thin veil of pleasantries. And while Ninon was quick to mask her shock when Athos told her about his new and unusual relationship status, it’s quite clear to Aramis that she’s far from sanctioning the development.

Because she doesn’t like him.

Aramis closes his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath, and attempts a smile. He has no idea what to say to Ninon, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t _try_. She’s Athos’ friend. He wants her to like him, if only for Athos’ sake.

He can do this. He totally can. Athos and Porthos are with him after all. They love him. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Only it absolutely does.

Ninon is an elegant, educated woman, a ferocious feminist, and runs an organisation that gives stipends to deserving girls in need. If someone like her doesn’t like him … it’s not precisely a compliment.

“Would you like some more coffee?” he asks eagerly, seeing that her cup is empty, pouncing on the chance to be of service.

“Pretty _and_ quick to offer Athos’ hospitality,” Ninon smiles, the curve of her lips a little too sharp. “It’s really no wonder that neither Porthos nor Athos can resist you.”

Aramis feels the prick of tears behind his eyes, and swallows dryly. At the edge of his vision he can see Athos frown, and hastily summons a fresh smile of his own. “I do what I can.”

She lifts her chin. “So I see.”

Now Porthos is frowning as well. Aramis wants to crawl into a hole and die.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” he says, his voice not quite as faint as he feared it would be. The floor feels miles away when he gets to his feet, but he manages to stay upright and wobble away without falling. Once he reaches the hallway to the bathroom he reaches out to the wall, steadies himself.

Despite his desperation to get away he’s still close enough to hear what’s said on the couch, possibly because Ninon does not lower her voice at all when she speaks.

“I don’t understand you,” she says flatly. “Neither of you.”

Either she overestimated his speed by quite a margin, or she wanted him to hear.

The cold contempt in her voice makes Aramis feel sick and he stumbles on, not into the bathroom, but his old, almost unused room. Normally he only goes into it for fresh clothes nowadays, but now he closes the door behind him with a sob of relief, turns the key in the lock and rushes towards the bed, falls into it face-first.

The comforter is cold and smells of dust, but Aramis presses his face into it nevertheless, tries to steady his breathing, to keep the tears away.

It has been so very long since he’s last felt like this, since someone he doesn’t even know could make him feel so small and helpless and worthless. The sensation claws at his windpipe, squeezes down on it with vicious strength, and Aramis curls in on himself, desperate for someone to hold and tell him it’s alright.

He’ll have to go back to the living room soon, and he doesn’t want to do that with red eyes and a blotchy face. He needs to get a hold of himself. Maybe he should go to the bathroom after all, splash some cold water on his skin and bang his head against the mirror until he feels better.

Instead he calls Constance. At first he only gets the phone out of his pocket because it’s uncomfortable to keep it in his pants while lying down. But the display lights up when he accidentally pushes a button, and then there are Porthos and Athos’ smiling faces to look at, so he decides to go through his gallery, and then one thing leads to another, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s already dialled Constance’s number.

Now he’s waiting for her to pick up, half hoping and half afraid of explaining himself once she does. She makes him wait a bit, with the phone pressed to his ear, eyes closed and listening to the tooting noise on the other end of the line. Eventually she does pick up, her voice crisp and warm and calming, all in one single word. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Aramis gets out. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Constance takes a deep breath. “Are you alright? You sound funny.”

The urge to cry becomes unbearable for a moment. “I’ve been better,” he gets out, sounding like a strangled frog.

“Where are your boys?” Constance asks next. “Do you want me to call them?”

Aramis exhales a shaky breath. “I’m home. So are they.”

“What the fuck did they do?” Constance growls, switching into attack mode with alarming readiness. “I’m going to kill them!”

“No - no, it’s not them!” Aramis shrieks. He couldn’t bear for her to think ill of either Athos or Porthos. It’s not their fault. So he explains about Ninon - about her polite, cold smile, and the way she makes him feel as if he wasn’t worth the air he’s breathing.

“I know her type,” Constance says at the end of it all. “It comes to the shop quite regularly. I’m just surprised that Athos and Porthos are friends with someone like that.”

There’s a pause during which Aramis is absolutely overtaxed for an answer, and then Constance clears her throat. “Do you want me to come over and release my inner wargoddess at her?”

Aramis loves her a lot. Which he tells her in explicit terms.


	2. Chapter 2

After a few moments of flipping between gratefulness for Constance’s existence and the fear of going back into the living room Aramis makes it off the bed by exhausting all his resources of determination.

Tom the kitten, who has waited in front of the door meeps at him in delight and demands to accompany him into the bathroom, so he can sit on Aramis’ left foot while he splashes cold water at his face and tries to get a grip.

He can do this. He really can. Athos and Porthos will take care of him. They always do. The fact that Ninon is their friend shouldn’t make a difference … but maybe it does. Maybe she’s more important to them than him. No, that’s nonsense. They _love_ him. They said so.

Aramis takes a deep breath and dries his face, keeps his eyes closed for what feels like half an eternity. He hates the sick feeling to his stomach this kind of thing results in, somewhere between the urge to cry and throwing up.

Oh well. Time to face the music.

Aramis hangs the towel back in its place, gently nudges Tom off his foot and turns to open the bathroom door.

Where Porthos is looming, looking worried.

Aramis very nearly flinches away from him. He manages to resist that impulse, and carefully looks up into Porthos’ eyes.

“Are you alright?” Porthos asks, tentative enough to make the ugly pressure in Aramis’ chest give way to something approaching grateful relief.

“No,” he hears himself say, voice clear but for a suggestion of tears. “I’m sorry.”

Porthos pulls him into his arms so quickly that the impact makes Aramis gasp, and then he’s clinging to him, his face hidden away against Porthos’ neck, holding on to him with desperate neediness.

“Don’t be sorry,” Porthos whispers into his ear. “You didn’t do anythin’ wrong. She had no right to talk to you like that. Athos is tryin’ to explain as much to her.”

Aramis shivers and lets out a little sound of sorrow, feeling like a proper villain for bringing all this unrest into their home.

Porthos holds him a little tighter and brushes a kiss to his forehead, strokes his fingers through Aramis’ hair. “It’s all ok, I promise. You don’t have to come back to sit with her if you don’t wanna.”

The temptation to hide himself away until this threat to his peace of mind is gone very nearly makes Aramis sink to the floor in a flash of weakness. But he knows from experience that ignoring something like this will result in an even larger shadow of apprehension growing on his mind.

He needs to face Ninon, needs to confront her. And then there’s also the matter of -

“Don’t be mad,” he mumbles into Porthos’ warm skin. “I called Constance.”

“For help?” Porthos asks, and when Aramis nods he gives him a mighty squeeze, making Aramis’ ribs cry out in agony and delight. “I’m so sorry that you felt you needed to do that, but I’m glad she’s comin’.”

He’s _so good_ ; Aramis will never cease to be amazed that he gets to be with him.

“I love you,” he says, the words no less fervent for the fact they’re whispered.

“I love you, too,” Porthos tells him quietly. It helps so much to hear him say it, makes Aramis feel so cherished and safe that he sighs in blissful relief.

“Can I hold your hand when we go back?” Aramis asks him, and Porthos growls, leans in to pepper Aramis’ face with kisses.

“Yes, kitten,” he says, gives Aramis a proper, lingering, wonderfully soft kiss right on the mouth. “Yes, you can.”

So Aramis takes his hand and pulls them away from the bathroom door, accompanied by Tom who seems to be very eager to return to the living room and maybe get a few treats out of Athos. Because Athos has turned out to be the most devoted kitten-dad of all time, and spoils their fluffy babies rotten.

Ninon looks pale and rather proud when they round the corner, but when she raises her eyes to Aramis’ face something in her expression softens and she takes a deep breath. “I have to admit that this does not look like an act at all.”

“Will you grant me a sliver of insight into human nature?” Athos drawls, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Between you and Porthos it is a marvel that I am allowed to make any decisions by myself.”

Aramis stops a few feet away from the couch and looks from one to the other, tries to gauge the mood to better prepare himself for whatever’s to come. It’s not difficult to see that Athos is angry underneath a very thin layer of civil hospitality, and he thinks that Ninon might be exhausted and perhaps a little sorry.

Which does not mean that he’s no longer afraid of her. He’d trusted her not to hurt him when he first sat down with her today, and he will not make that mistake again.

So when Ninon suddenly gets up and advances on him, he grips Porthos’ hand a little tighter and shrinks back against his solid frame.

Ninon hesitates upon seeing his reaction, and she takes a step back, bites her bottom lip. “Oh.”

Then the doorbell rings.

“That will be Constance,” Porthos says in a tone that suggests it would be unwise to question the reason for this unannounced visit. “Will you please let her in, Athos.”

Athos looks decidedly pleased when he gets up from his armchair. “With pleasure.”

Aramis remains where he is while Athos goes to answer the door, tucked into Porthos’ side, continuing his awkward stalemate with Ninon, who is still on her feet and looking increasingly discomfited.

Aramis can hear Athos greet Constance by the door, can hear her crisp, impatient replies, and then she’s already rushing into the room, making a bee-line for Aramis’ side, and planting herself there, ready for battle.

Ninon appears rather startled by her appearance on the scene, but she remains on her feet, eyes wide open and assessing. Eventually she inclines her head, and the suggestion of a smile rises to her eyes. “Come to protect the damsel in distress?”

“What if I have?” Constance counters, chin raised challengingly.

“I think you’d have to get in line,” Ninon replies, the corners of her mouth curling upwards. “I really am sorry, Aramis. I am told that my first impression of you was very wrong indeed.”

Aramis is so very much taken aback by this sudden turn of front that he has no idea what to say. So naturally he blurts out the very first nonsense that comes to mind. “But I only offered you coffee! I wanted you to like me!”

Ninon blinks rapidly at this amazing feat of communication, and then a spasm of regret flashes over her features. “It seems I need a lesson in Athos’ insight into human nature.”

“You shall have it,” Athos offers generously. “As well as more coffee. Will you all sit down now please. I can see no reason at all for this nonsensical standing about the room. You are confusing the kittens.”

“And we must not,” Porthos says, gently nudging Aramis towards the couch, “under no circumstances, confuse the kittens.”

“Or alarm them,” Aramis agrees automatically.

Athos glares at them both from the corner of his eyes, and proceeds to serve Constance coffee and cake.

“So tell me,” Constance says, wielding her dessert fork like a harpoon in Ninon’s general direction as soon as they’ve both sat down. “What was that awful impression you had of Aramis that made you act like a b-” She becomes aware of Aramis’ pained expression and smiles sweetly, “bad human being?”

Maybe Aramis shouldn’t have allowed her to sit right next to Ninon. Now all he can do is to hold on to Porthos’ upper arm and pray for a cease-fire.

“She fell into the error of believing that I wasn’t allowed to change my mind about romance and relationships,” Athos says from the stove, where he’s preparing a fresh can of coffee. “So naturally Aramis had to have subjected me to some sort of emotional manipulation, while gleefully enjoying my wealth and keeping Porthos under an undefined sexual spell.” He clears his throat. “Clearly Porthos and I must blame ourselves for giving her such a bad opinion of our characters.”

Constance frowns, apparently at pains to extract the basic truth from Athos’ words. “You wanted to protect them?”

Ninon shrugs, and nods. “To be quite frank I was a little … overwhelmed by the news of their relationship.”

“Okay,” Constance says slowly. “I don’t blame you for _that_. Still.”

“Yes,” Ninon agrees immediately. “I truly am sorry. I should have made my reservations known without causing Aramis such distress. It was very uncivil and thoughtless of me.”

Maybe it’s the fact that she talks so very much like Athos that Aramis can’t help but believe her to be sincere.


	3. Chapter 3

It was probably to be expected that things couldn’t return to sunshine and bliss for Aramis right away. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s exhausted, that he wants to cuddle with his boys in peace ... that Ninon is supposed to stay for dinner, and try as he might, he can’t seem to relax around her.

That inability doesn’t stem from a lack of trying - neither on his own, nor on her side.

The few times she’s addressed him she took care to be both gentle and civil. But her smile still looks strained when it’s aimed at him, and while he guesses that her own discomfort is to blame here, it doesn’t precisely alleviate his own.

Constance does her very best to keep Ninon entertained and distracted, and it’s mostly working. Athos has been rather quiet since her arrival on the scene, has kept himself busy with providing more tea and coffee, but stayed out of the conversation otherwise.

Right now he’s driving the kittens distracted by the simple means of a bunch of feathers applied to the end of a stick. Aramis watches him using the toy like a demented conductor, or possibly a wizard, and rests his head on Porthos’ shoulder.

“You okay, pumpkin?” Porthos asks him, voice low enough to be private, and Aramis closes his eyes and nods, tries to focus on him and only him. They’re still holding hands, haven’t let go of each other since Aramis grabbed Porthos’ hand in front of the bathroom, and while the sweaty-palms-situation could be improved, Porthos is clearly a perfect human being, and Aramis incredibly lucky to have him.

It’s probably selfish of him that he wants Athos on the couch as well, and not seven feet across the room in his armchair.

Aramis sighs again, and opens his eyes just in time to see Athos gazing at him. Athos’ eyes have always been very telling, have always been the most honest thing about him, and right now -

Aramis didn’t expect to see them looking at him like this. With such longing, such angry helplessness.

Before he knows what he’s doing he’s let go of Porthos’ hand, jumped up from his seat, rounded the couch table, gently kicked the kittens out of the way, and clambered above Athos’ lap on the armchair.

Now Athos is looking up at him out of wide, surprised eyes, while Ninon and Constance’s conversation has come to an abrupt halt.

Silence hangs in the air like an unfinished spell of benevolent witchcraft.

Then Porthos clears his throat, and gets up as well. “I’m gonna cook.”

He tousles Aramis’ hair on his way to the kitchen, marking his approval, and Aramis takes a deep breath, pries the cat-toy from Athos’ stiff but unresisting hand. “Give me that.”

Athos blinks, and lets him have it - settles his hands on Aramis’ hips afterwards. “What now?”

Aramis is hyper-aware of the two pairs of female eyes watching them. Still he drops the cat-toy to the floor and puts his arms around Athos’ neck, pulls him in, strokes his fingers through Athos’ hair. “You looked so angry and lost,” he whispers, has to close his eyes when he feels Athos relax against him. “I wanted to make you feel better.”

Athos groans into Aramis’ pullover and hugs him back, arms tight around Aramis’ middle, breathing against his chest. “I hardly deserve your care.”

“Yes, you do,” Aramis insists. “You always do.”

“Have they showed you the roof garden yet?” Constance asks at that point, voice animated to the point of mania. “I bet they haven’t. Let’s take our tea upstairs, shall we?”

Ninon agrees, audibly amused, and Aramis hears them leave, feels like a weight lifts off his shoulders when the door falls shut behind them.

Athos promptly holds him tighter. “I am so sorry, Aramis. This is all my fault.”

“It’s alright,” Aramis whispers. “She wanted to protect you.”

“It is not alright. She had no reason to treat you the way she did, and the fact that she did it because of me does not precisely make me feel better.” Athos’ voice sounds muffled and decidedly peeved, and Aramis can’t help but smile. He loves this side of Athos, just as much as he loves everything else about him.

“I should have told her about you before,” Athos carries on, oblivious. “She has always been my most ferocious ally; I should have known that she would be worried about me making another attempt at a relationship.”

“I still don’t blame you,” Aramis says, unable to ban the smile from his voice. “And neither should you.”

“I love you both, and Aramis is very right,” Porthos comments from the stove.

“This is your home,” Athos insists. “You should be safe in your home.”

“I am safe in my home,” Aramis says, raking the fingers of both hands through Athos’ silky hair. “You can’t shelter me from everything, Athos. You protected me. How could I ask for more?”

He slides backwards on Athos’ lap and makes Athos lift his head, looks into his eyes. “I’m okay, I promise. It will probably take some time until I can be comfortable around Ninon, but that’s something she and I have to deal with. She can still be your friend. As far as I can tell she’s a good one.”

His words bring a light glimmer into Athos’ eyes, and eventually something remarkably similar to a grin appears in the corners of his mouth. “You really are your father’s son, aren’t you?”

Aramis flushes with pleasure. “You think so?”

“Oh yes,” Athos drawls affectionately. “That was very well spoken. We clearly need to go to one of his sermons.”

On an impulse, Aramis leans in and kisses him, remembering belatedly that Athos might not want to be kissed right at this moment. Athos’ hands come up to twist themselves into his hair before he can pull back, and Aramis moans, while the last of his discomfort finally melts away.

 

When Ninon and Constance return from the roof, Porthos is in the final processes of preparing his meal for the evening, generously distributing ground cheese over a massive dish of vegetable lasagna, humming to himself and providing comfortable background noise for Athos and Aramis, who have migrated to the couch to cuddle. Athos has two of their three kittens in his lap, and still can’t resist petting Howard, who’s comfortably stretched out on Aramis’ thighs.

“Now this is what I call domestic bliss,” Ninon comments, looking from Athos to Aramis. “I really was an idiot for doubting you, was I not?”

Athos grins and shrugs, and she huffs, takes the place on the deserted armchair. “Constance tells me that you are disgustingly perfect for each other. Might I inquire how Flea took the news? I assume that you have informed her of this?”

“She was very understanding and not shrewish at all,” Athos says, looking at Constance from underneath his lashes. “But then again she was present for some of the development.”

“I envy her,” Ninon sighs. “It must have been a sight to behold.”

“Oh, it was,” Porthos says, joining them. “If you wanna, I can show you some pictures.”

So Ninon plasters herself to his left side to gaze at his phone in utterly delighted amazement, while Constance takes the place to his right, adding the occasional comment of her own.

Aramis and Athos remain where they are, watching them, and if Athos keeps distracting Aramis by pressing little kisses to his cheek and ear, that’s nobody’s business but their own.

“Well, I have certainly learned my lesson,” Ninon says when they sit down to dinner. “I should never judge a book by its cover, not even a ridiculously handsome one.”

Aramis blushes to the roots of his hair, and Ninon smiles at him, a delighted twinkle in her eyes. “I must clearly visit more often, and try to make up for my error. I would dearly love to become your friend, Aramis. Will you let me?”

Aramis almost quakes under the concentrated gaze of everyone in the room, but is too happy and content to panic. “I can’t see why not.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to the generous provider of this very inspiring [plot bunny](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/post/138477897304/when-does-aramis-meet-ninon-what-if-somehow-they)!


End file.
